


talking to angels, counting the stars

by sightstone (symmetrophobic)



Series: defenders!au [2]
Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: M/M, Superhero!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-05-28 11:39:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15048113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symmetrophobic/pseuds/sightstone
Summary: Some problems don't need superheroes to solve - at least, Jongin thinks so. Bumhyeon will come round one day, maybe.





	1. 001.

**Author's Note:**

> a direct spinoff/paired fic to tall, dark and superman! the events are related + MAJOR spoilers revealed here, so if you haven't read the first fic in the series, it would be good to~~ ;A;
> 
> for those who just need a refresher course: this is a chaptered spinoff set in the defenders!au, where superheroes with hidden identities are created and employed by the government to fight crime \o/ i just really wanted to do something for other pairings in the universe, and was deciding between skt botlane and gen g/mvp shenanigans but already had this idea for prayrilla from the start ;u; hope you guys enjoy~ comments and kudos will be loved and appreciated <3

People typically develop reasons for getting through a day of work. It’s a self-defence mechanism, you know, protecting the mind through difficult times by conjuring the thought of happier ones to supply motivation.

Jongin has three reasons to get through the day. Two of them live in his house and make it home, and the other is a very nice charcoal meat skewer place with reasonable soju prices ten minutes from work.

He passes the third one whilst driving home from the Busan base that night, thinking about a particularly stupid problem from work and which of his colleagues would be best to push it on (delegate) to.

Their apartment complex is a clean, red brick sprawl of blocks – Bumhyeon had loved it the moment he’d seen it, after they had to relocate to Busan. Of course, they were saving up for something bigger, but Bumhyeon was very adamant about having enough for _someone’s_ education. It’s almost like he didn’t know how much they _had_ , Jongin thinks.

He instinctively checks the pairs of shoes by the door as he toes his own off, before reaching over to press an 8-digit code into the worn keypad. Then he leans closer, deliberate nonchalance in his position, inserting his thumb into the little opening that’s appeared just above the keypad and scanning his fingerprint on a much newer, smaller glass panel concealed within.

Then the door opens with the usual cheery beep, and he steps in.

Immediately, he’s assaulted with a flurry of tiny footsteps and a small, slightly knobbly cannonball in his left kneecap.

“Daddy!” Boseong’s smiling, pointing at his mouth. “Daddy look! Look!”

“Hello,” Jongin grins as he lifts Boseong up, letting the door close behind him and listening for the beep to tell him it’s been locked. He feigns ignorance at first, like Boseong hasn’t been chattering about it all week. “What is it?”

Boseong’s trying to open his mouth as wide as possible, pointing at the tiny gap between his front tooth and incisor. “Kooth ell out!”

Bumhyeon’s laughing from the kitchen – something really _nice_ is cooking, and Boseong’s struggling down, running over to the table to pick up the small bottle and running back to show Jongin. Inside is a tiny white cuboid, a little front tooth, washed clean.

“I didn’t eat it,” Boseong says, looking relieved, inspecting his tooth.

“It got stuck in an apple slice,” Bumhyeon informs, setting a dish on the table, wearing the cute apron with the Ryan print (a gift from an old friend), his chestnut sweater sleeves rolled to his elbows. After almost a week, it’s a glorious sight. He expertly smacks Jongin away before the older man can nab a steamed dumpling from the table, before leaning over to kiss him. “How was work.”

“Eww!” Boseong says excitedly, galloping off to his room. “Eww eww!”

“Can’t be harder than yours,” Jongin says with a wry smile. “How was the,” _fourth, in two months,_ “big business trip to Seoul?”

Bumhyeon rolls his eyes. “Difficult. Dumb. Tiring. I’m just glad I’m back.”

“How long?”

“Just this afternoon, before I texted you I’d pick up Boseong from daycare. Thanks for taking care of him these few days,” Bumhyeon starts arranging the cutlery. “Was it difficult over here?”

Jongin glances in the direction of Boseong’s room, before lowering his voice. “As in, how long will you be back for?”

The younger man doesn’t reply for a moment, straightening a pair of chopsticks. “Not sure.”

“Something’s happening in Seoul, isn’t it?”

Bumhyeon walks back to the kitchen, taking a plate of broccoli and a serving spoon. “You haven’t told me how work was.”

“Bumhyeon,” Jongin says, as the other man sets the food on the table. “It’s something big, isn’t it? They’ve never mobilised the countryside Defenders so often before.”

“Please don’t use that word here.”

“Is it something to do with the black ma-…”

“Hyung,” Bumhyeon says sharply. Boseong scampers into the living room, then, before grabbing a train track from the coffee table and heading back in.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says quietly after a moment, before looking up with a bracing smile. “It’s fine, it’ll be over soon.”

“I’ve been watching the news. They say there’ve been explosions in Seoul universities.” When the younger man doesn’t reply, he tries a different tack. “Kyungho’s still studying-…”

His words are cut clean through by a very familiar, very annoying klaxon, blaring from the phone on the dinner table, then, and both of them instinctively sigh.

Bumhyeon glances at Jongin, who shrugs, taking a few steps back, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Go on.”

The younger man leans over, untying his apron in one smooth movement, before accepting the call. “Hirai?”

At this distance, all Jongin can hear is a buzz of incomprehensible sound, see Bumhyeon’s face darken a little as he rubs a knuckle in his temple. He pulls the apron off his head, already walking over to hang it in the kitchen, before kneeling beside the fridge, pulling the carton of drinks there aside. “Got it. I’ll be there.”

Jongin leans against the kitchen doorway, watching Bumhyeon press a code into the side of the chrome black surface of the refrigerator, till a panel pops open silently.

“What is it?” He hazards.

Bumhyeon glances at him. “You know I can’t tell you that.” He slides the panel sideways, before pulling out a backpack from the concealed compartment.

“Just checking,” Jongin says absently, as Bumhyeon puts everything back in its place, neat and tidy.

“Lights, please.”

Jongin flicks the kitchen lights off, plunging the place into darkness, searching for something to say. “I’ll make sure Boseong eats.”

Bumhyeon’s lacing up his boots, backpack hanging off his shoulder. “He has two math practices to do, I’ve marked the pages and answer sheet with post-its. Try not to let him eat any chocolates past eight,” he stands, sliding his gloves on and tightening them in a matter of seconds, before fastening the belt from the backpack. “I’ve just put a round of laundry in, so if you could hang it and wash the dishes from dinner that would be great too.”

 _Math hasn’t been Boseong’s weak point for a month, he’s been struggling more with languages,_ Jongin thinks, but he doesn’t say a word.

“That’s great,” he nods instead, shrugging. “I’ll just write the bill for World Peace during the teabreaks.”

Bumhyeon tugs at the near invisible black strap near his hip, and the suit springs from the pack, wrapping around his body, rough, reinforced bulletproof grey camouflage sealing into his gloves and boots.

It’s always kind of reminded Jongin of a straitjacket and shackles.

The younger man steps forward, tiptoeing slightly to press a kiss on Jongin’s lips, the fingertips of his gloves brushing against the side of Jongin’s face. In the darkness, his eyes are like stars.

“Thanks. I’ll be back soon.”

There’s a tired smile on his face as the helmet whirs into place, leaving Jongin staring at his own reflection in a blacked-out visor, and the older man turns, walking away from the kitchen, towards Boseong’s room.

The boy’s running a tank engine across the floor, making soft _choo_ noises. He takes the toy with him when Jongin lifts him up.

“Dinnertime.”

“Did Papa go to work?” he asks before they’re even in the living room.

“Smart kid,” Jongin lowers Boseong into his booster seat. “I’ll scoop your rice. Then we have to do math.”

The little boy runs his tank engine across the length of table in front of him. It clinks repetitively against the plate of stir-fried broccoli, as Jongin fills two bowls with rice.

“Why?”

“Math is important for you.”

Jongin walks back with the rice, setting a white and blue Pororo bowl in front of Boseong.

“Why did Papa go?”

The man starts meticulously cutting up broccoli florets with a kitchen scissors. He’s heard Bumhyeon explain his job to Boseong before, once the boy was old enough to ask _where is Papa going?_ The _where_ had changed to _why_ once Boseong realised he couldn’t get any answers. Pretty soon he would go through all the 5Ws.

“To earn money,” Jongin clears his throat. “To buy important things. Like food, for eating,” he tips some broccoli into Boseong’s bowl. He starts cutting up some pieces of dumpling.

The boy looks at his bowl, then back at Jongin. “What if we don’t eat?” he suggests hopefully.

He’s watching his father’s expression carefully. Papa smiles a lot, even when he isn’t happy, which is a lot of the time, but Daddy doesn’t do that so much. Maybe he can’t do it as well, or he just doesn’t want to. Either way, it’s way harder to tell when he does, so Boseong has to focus.

“Can Papa stay at home then?”

There’s a pause. Then Jongin smiles, leaning forward, like he’s sharing a secret. “Tell you what. If you finish your math quickly and brush your teeth before you sleep, we’ll have some chocolates before Papa comes back. Okay?”

*

Bumhyeon’s voice sounds like magic, the way Jongin remembered it five years ago, before they had the house, before they adopted Boseong, when the idea of a together forever was a pleasant, distant notion at the back of Jongin’s head.

“If you could be any superhero.”

Jongin turns to face him. They’re each holding a can of beer (back when Bumhyeon still drank), and the top buttons of Jongin’s security uniform are loosened, Bumhyeon’s thick manila files from the hospital tucked away neatly in his bag.

They’re all they are in that moment, a uni dropout trying to work his way up in a high-end private security firm and a prodigy medicine scholar in his final stage of training.

The dry night air blows fickle around their heads, whipping fiercely one moment, then gentle as a breeze the next. Below their dangling feet, the sand of the beach spirals gently.

“What would you name yourself?” Bumhyeon continues. His cheeks are dusted with red in the dim light from the restaurants behind them, the noise and bustle seeming so distant where they are, sitting at the edge of the pavement, legs dipped into an eternity pool of the unknown. He looks so fucking _beautiful_ , is all Jongin can think.

The older man shrugs. “Never thought about it.”

“Come on,” Bumhyeon laughs. The sound floats out into the ocean, mingles with the sound of waves crashing gently on the sand. “We’ve all wanted to be superheroes one time or another.”

Jongin laughs again. “When we were like, 12, maybe.”

“I’m serious. What would you call yourself?”

Alcohol is mixing up with waves of sickly infatuation in Jongin’s head. He chuckles, staring up at the sky, dusted with stars. “I don’t know. Something stupid. Immature,” he leans back, loose gravel biting at his palm. “Pray, maybe,” he smirks, striking a dumb pose, puffing out his chest. “Because that’s what my enemies should be doing when I arrive on the scene.”

Bumhyeon throws his head back and laughs, the sound intoxicating.

Jongin forgets about it, mostly. Until a year later when a new Defender, part of South Korea's tightly regulated superhero force, makes his debut. The first Specialist Defender, as they called him, the Enhancements (or  _powers_ , as some people called them) given to him honed to suit a specific role: disaster relief. He had a shield that could push hostiles out of a protective zone, force field bursts strong enough to knock enemies off their feet, and most importantly, he could heal.

(Healing was more difficult than it looked, some theorised. What if you reconstructed a vein back where it didn’t belong, or accidentally fused two of the 27 similar-looking bones in a hand? It’d need a specialised mind to heal. The mind of a surgeon, maybe.)

The sun glinted off the words branded into his back and front as he stepped up to the plate after saving the day, and Pray was swallowed into the welcoming arms of South Korea.

*

Bumhyeon’s tired when he gets back.

Jongin can hear him stumbling a little outside in the darkness despite the night vision, given to all the Defenders; there’s the sound of a chair being bumped into, then put back neatly.

He checks on Boseong one last time to make sure he’s sleeping, then lumbers out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Bumhyeon is leaning over the dining table, glasses on. There are dark circles under his eyes, visible under the orange lamplight. His hair is still damp from a shower. He’s checking Boseong’s homework.

“You should go to sleep.”

“Boseong-…”

“He finished it. He still needs to work on his subtraction but he knows all the numbers beyond a hundred.”

“Dinner-…”

“Went well. Boseong actually doesn’t mind this broccoli, after I made him try it. He suggested more ham.”

“His alphabet practice-…”

“Is fine. He was trying to read political slogans off the news tonight,” Jongin bites his lip, unable to hide the edge in his voice. “You should’ve seen it.”

Bumhyeon sighs, closing the book and turning off the lamp.

Jongin lets the other man sink naturally into his side, wrapping an arm around him. When he closes his eyes, in that moment, he can pretend they’re 20 again, penniless and free, eating ddeokbokki off street carts for dinner after late shifts and walking home together, hands swinging between them, when they miss the last bus.

They’re in bed, Jongin flicking off the lamplight, when Bumhyeon speaks again. “I have to go again on Friday night.”

It would be difficult to say Jongin didn’t see this coming.

“That’s in two days,” he says conversationally. “What time?”

“The train leaves at 11. I’ll put Boseong to bed.”

“When will you be back?”

“They didn’t say.”

Jongin doesn’t say anything. He knows Bumhyeon is exhausted from all this, knows how much he wants to see Boseong grow up, knows why he can’t (won’t) tell Jongin anything, and hasn’t been able to since he signed that fucking contract all those years ago, signed his freedom and his identity away for a pretty annual penny.

He knows it’s selfish to want him to stay.

“I can’t watch Boseong when you leave. I’m rostered for late shift,” he says, like it’ll change anything.

The younger man finally sighs. “I’ll call his babysitter tomorrow.”

He’d been tired before, but Jongin feels the tendrils of insomnia creeping up on him now. The other man turns to the other side of the bed wearily, huddling in on himself.

“Goodnight, hyung.”

Jongin could roll over, let sleep end the conversation there, but he thinks of Boseong, thinks of everything, and inches closer, wrapping an arm around the younger man.

 _I’m here_ , is all he wants to say, all he’s been trying to say for the past 5 years. _I’m on your side. Let me in._

He falls asleep inhaling the scent of Bumhyeon’s shampoo, feeling the tremble of Bumhyeon’s ribcage as he slips into a fitful sleep full of dreams far away from home, fighting the hulking jaws of death.

*

Friday comes all too soon.

Bumhyeon’s busy with dinner preparations when Jongin leaves. Boseong is playing with his sitter in his room. The house is rushing and quiet. It’s the sort of moment where nothing happens because everyone’s too caught up trying to get to the next moment.

It only occurs to Jongin when he’s halfway there that he hadn’t said a proper goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be coming soon~ comments and kudos will be appreciated hehe, let me know what you think! :)


	2. 002.

_It must be nice_ , people would say if they knew (and they didn’t), _working in the same place as your partner._

Jongin did use to have vague, momentary fantasies about TV drama office romances, when he was like, sixteen, maybe. The reality of it was that working high-end security for the Busan base with Bumhyeon working as a Defender in the same building did nothing for their relationship except to vastly improve their skills at ignoring each other whilst in the same space and reducing their conversations to businesslike reports of what happened in the day – rather unhealthy (albeit common) traits of any marriage.

Some of the younger Defenders might have made it a game - Khan, for one, had barely been in a year and Jongin already knew his favourite TV shows, street food places, and (unwillingly) lucky underwear colour, from the conversations the Defender had with the staff whenever he went by.

Those things made him human. Under that visor and the flashy Enhancements was a bit of a twerp with a pure, slightly misguided heart, obsessed with webcomics and various clothing articles of the orange persuasion.

But Bumhyeon – _Pray_ , took the secret identity very seriously. He was kind, and polite, of course, known by everyone, and kept up lasting correspondences with many people (Jongin had glimpsed his Christmas card list before, it went on for several Excel sheets) but at the end of every conversation you had with him, you realised you still didn’t know anything about him.

And the way he treated Jongin when he was in the uniform, Jongin felt that way sometimes, too.

Sometimes he fucking hated this place.

Most people would expect the Busan base to be a downscaled version of the Seoul base, but as someone who’s guarded both and hence knows them inside out and upside down, Jongin can very confidently beg to differ. The Seoul base was _the Seoul base._ The Busan base was just…not. But of course, being the second base constructed after the one in Seoul, it would be the _only_ other one that did R &D for Enhancements, and hence needed a little extra security they didn’t have the budget for.

The base itself is a nondescript, identical set of four-storey buildings in an isolated, fenced-off space, away from the main populace. All the money they had for this place, they funnelled into function, whatever was leftover was divided carefully amongst everything else, like security. There was an entire list of loopholes for breaking into this place – granted, they only worked if you knew the place as well as Jongin did.

Of course, the boredom wouldn’t be so bad if Jongin were on one of the lower levels of the building, where he actually got to see and talk to people. But the unfortunate truth was that Jongin was good at what he did, and people that were good at what they did generally had to stop doing it and start ordering around people doing the same thing. He wasn’t stuck in the main security room, thank goodness, but he _was_ stuck on the top level where the labs were located, aka where nothing ever happens.

He glances at the tablet at his station once he’s back from his rounds (another glorious 10 minutes of nothing), checking on the cameras. The rest of his team are doing their normal circuits on the grounds and main building area. Then he checks the time.

Then he stops. Casually, he straightens, looking out from a window to scan the grounds.

Jongin picks up his talkie, though it’s barely been ten minutes since the last check-in. “A8, where are you?”

_A8 is not, in fact, supposed to be patrolling Block A at this timeslot, neither is he supposed to be invisible, rendering me unable to see him from this viewpoint._

Static.

“Sound off in sequence.”

Nothing. Jongin waits five whole seconds, and none of the eleven other (usually fucking noisy) men and women in his team reply. A perfunctory check of equipment shows that everything is working perfectly, including someone’s attempt to hack into their closed-circuit security camera system and put on a loop.

Okay, maybe Jongin takes back what he said about nothing ever happening.

The first thing he does is send a distress signal to the main office, then directly to the Seoul base, informing them of the situation and asking for reinforcements. They’ll have to send people down to help – _when_ those people can get here is another question.

Another ten seconds in, and he hears the beep of the fire exit door opening on this level. The very same fire exit door that’s locked by keycode and retinal scan on the outside.

Someone just got in, took out their (admittedly not that great) transmissions equipment along with half or more of his (much greater) security team, hacked their way straight through the building’s state-of-the-art technological defences and is coming right for this laboratory, all in the ten minutes since the last check-in.

 _Hah_ , Jongin thinks, silently crouching at his station, just as he reaches to turn off the lights in the atrium. _Be nice if we could have a Defender around now_.

He selects a gun from his station.

The custom-made hypodermic dart rifle under his desk handles, at best, like a water balloon gun at mid-range, with sudden bouts of odd recoil, excruciating reload time and the tendency to jam at crucial moments if it feels like it hasn’t been polished enough in the past 24 hours. It is absolutely _impossible_ , Jongin had been taught when he was getting his certification, to fire it at long range and hope to damage anything but your pride.

Someone walks around the corner, pausing for a split second for their eyes to adjust to the darkness.

That’s all the time it takes for Jongin to silently press a button, selecting and measuring out a dosage based on the hostile’s estimated body mass, adjust the aim of the rifle, and fire.

The man stumbles magnificently for a second or two, before going down, but not before Jongin sees twin spots of bright, red light that scorch the darkness, soaring from the man once he goes down and charring the wall where they smash into, just a few feet away from Jongin’s head.

They came from his _hands_.

Jongin’s heart is hammering, now. This is new. They’re _Enhanced_. And he’s willing to bet there’s more than one of them. That one didn’t look bright enough to hack all the way up this building.

Hesitating, he puts down the hypodermic rifle, automatically loading another gun, updating the distress signal as he goes.

They chose this night, Jongin realises. _They know the Defenders are away._

Immediately, his mind wanders to Bumhyeon, on the train to Seoul. Did they know who he was? What if they attacked the train? Did they know about _Boseong_?

Footsteps echo through the corridor. They’re confident, brisk steps, unafraid of whoever might hear them. Three people.

Jongin raises the rifle, flicking the safety off.

Then a voice choruses through the white, narrow space, like a harp, as someone turns the corner.

“ _Put the gun down.”_

*

Bumhyeon can’t sleep.

The lights have been purposely dimmed on this private car in the bullet train, and Dongha dozes comfortably next to him, blanket pulled to his neck. Hirai’d left some time ago, to make some calls to the Seoul base.

He’s watching Hirai’s communicator. It’s been blinking with a red light for a while now, which means there’s a message to the main office, automatically copied and sent to Hirai as well. The light goes on and off repetitively, a steady pattern. It’s been bugging Bumhyeon for the past few minutes.

Then it shines red and holds there for an entire second, then starts blinking faster, emitting beeping noises.

“Five more minutes, hyung,” Dongha yawns, rolling over.

Bumhyeon glances at the door. Hirai won’t be back for a while. Maybe he’ll just check this, to make sure – really, what could go wrong? It’s barely been an hour since they left Busan.

He pushes off his blanket, leaning over to press the blinking button.

 _“Busan base Block C security breach_ ,” a familiar voice states calmly. “ _Number of hostiles unknown, heading for the lab. Men down. Send assistance.”_

Bumhyeon is frozen.

_Fuck. What’s wrong? What happened?_

Immediately, his mind buzzes with horrific mental images, mortifying scenarios of all the wrong things that could happen, sending jitters through his body. _Terrorists. Organised crime. They’re going to kill him._

Then one thought tries to make itself heard above the storm: _You’re underestimating Jongin_.

Come on, he’s handled himself in worse situations. Help from the main office is on its way. He’ll be fine. In fact, whatever manages to get within a metre of him should start running for the hills, provided he hasn’t sniped them down yet. Bumhyeon relaxes a little.

Then the second message comes in.

_“Hostiles are Enhanced, repeat, hostiles are Enhanced. Send assistance ASAP.”_

Bumhyeon sinks back in his chair, legs losing all strength.

_They knew. Those fucking bastards knew we left Busan._

A sound from the next chair makes him jump. Dongha is wide awake, sitting upright.

“Was that a message from our base?”

Bumhyeon’s running a hand through his hair, considering his options, his head in a mess for the first time in years. “Yeah.”

“Hyung,” Dongha says, then, a little louder, nodding towards the emergency exit. “Head back first? I’ll find Hirai and tell him what’s going on.”

Bumhyeon moves so quickly the blanket falls off, grabbing his backpack and boots, heart pounding and head spinning a little. _Pull yourself together. You’re not going to be of any use to anyone if you fall apart like this_.

“Hyung,” the younger man says then, concerned. “You okay? I can go back instead.”

“No, they might be hurt, they’ll need me to fix people up,” Bumhyeon says breathlessly, before opening the connecting door. “See you there soon.”

In the darkness of midnight, Pray shoots out silently, unseen, from an unknown bullet train cab, and speeds back to Busan.

*

“ _…not bad at all_.”

Jongin’s only vaguely aware of what’s happening. The world is sideways, spinning violently every time he tries to get up, and it’s getting increasingly harder to hold on to simple thoughts, like who he is, or what he’s doing. Sentences form, then diffuse away in his head. It’s difficult just _listening_ to anything.

Somewhere in the mess of thoughts in his head, a realisation floats through – the _Charm_. The Enhancement that lets users persuade people to do their bidding, _that’s_ how they’re doing this. But getting hold of one was supposed to be _impossible_ – how did they do it?

“…Imp out…entire corridor with a dart gun. It’s going to be so troublesome carrying him back later,” another voice fades in, flat and annoyed.

“We have access to the labs, Jaeha. Do we unload the merchandise?”

 _That voice_. He knows that voice. He coughs, once, barely able to force out a sound.

There’s silence for a while. Someone crouches in front of him, a cherubic, boyish face, and the angels sing again. “He knows you, Seohaengie hyung.”

“Yeah. We worked together at the Seoul base. Knew each other before that, too.”

_Charmed._ _He must've been Charmed, that's why he left._

The blurred slant of a smiling, slender face burns into Jongin’s visual field. The boy doesn’t say anything.

“Do you want him?” Seohaeng asks, still out of eyeshot. “He’s trained in arms, like me. Wicked with a sniper. Full access to Seoul and Busan bases until they rework security.”

“No,” the boy crouching in front of him tilts his head, brow creasing. “I _know_ this one. _Kim Jongin_ , living with Busan Defender Kang “Pray” Bumhyeon,” he checks Jongin’s expression carefully. “And their lovely little five-year-old boy Boseong, attending kindergarten four streets away.”

The drowsiness and general lack of control over his mind are barely enough to mask the terror screaming through Jongin’s mind.

Jaeha laughs, shaking his head. “Seohaeng, unload everything we need. Make it fast, reinforcements are probably on the way. Dandy,” he orders. “Help Seohaeng, then get Imp, notify Spirit too. And now, for _you_ ,” light, icy fingers press against the side of Jongin’s head.

“Let’s test a theory, okay, you and me?” The fingers force his face up, till he stares into a pair of cold, cruel eyes.

“How much do you think that Defender really loves you?”

*

The place is storming with reinforcements by the time Bumhyeon gets there.

His heart sinks. Whoever was here, they’re gone already.

“Pray!” It’s a familiar call – paramedics are already here. They usually asked him to stabilise the wounded before sending them to the hospital. “Down here! Six unconscious, multiple stab wounds, scorch marks on some of them. Four unharmed, assembled over on the other side.”

“There are twelve in total,” Bumhyeon lays a hand on one of them. _Four stab wounds, concentrated around the upper left abdomen. Vital organs still working. Blood pressure dropping but not critical_. He patches this one up just enough, before moving onto the next. “Where are the other two?”

 _Jongin’s not here_.

“One more on the way!” Someone shouts. “They’re carrying him down from Block A!”

Block A. Jongin was – _is,_ in Block C.

“There’s one more,” Bumhyeon says, finishing up with the second one. Third one. _Bullet wounds. Three entry points, two exit points. Internal bleeding in chest cavity._ This one will take longer. “He’s in Block C, top level.”

The paramedic looks dubious, but radios it in anyway.

“ _We can’t access Block C top level,”_ comes the response a few minutes later. _“We don’t have clearance._ ”

Bumhyeon’s heart sinks. _I need to go there myself. It’ll be a while before I can be done here_.

“Try again,” the paramedic barks. “Someone could be _dying_ up there, _get_ someone with clearance!”

“Seventh one is here!”

Fifth one. _Third degree burns. Fabric melted and fused with skin._ I have to finish here. It would be unprofessional to prioritise Jongin over the others like this.

Sixth one. _Two bullet wounds to back. Impact reduced by silencer_. I didn’t say goodbye to him before he left. We didn’t even call.

Seventh. _Two stab wounds, one slash._ Bumhyeon’s hands tremble, trying to brush away a tear he can’t reach through his visor.

“Thanks,” the paramedic says, relieved, once he’s done. “Is there anything we should-…”

Pray kicks off directly upwards, arcing gracefully through the air, before shooting straight towards Block C.

*

The corridor lasts forever.

The windows on this level are made of a special reinforced glass, made to withstand even earthquakes, so Bumheyon’d had to come up through the fire exit, wasting more precious seconds.

He hurtles through the narrow space, heading right to Jongin’s station, its location memorised perfectly on the map in his head.

His heart clenches at the sight of Jongin’s shadowed figure in the atrium, comatose on the ground and facing the wall. No blood or burn marks, or any signs of a fight, as far as Bumhyeon can see – maybe they just knocked him out, took the Enhancements and left, he thinks desperately.

_But Jongin wouldn’t have gone down like that. You know that better than anyone else._

“Sir?” It’s difficult maintaining decorum but Bumhyeon makes that effort, as he drops down to the ground, running over, placing his hands on Jongin’s shoulder. _Vitals stable, if not slightly elevated. No signs of head injury whatsoever, no signs of internal injury_ – then _why is he down_? “Can you hear me?”

His shoulders sag in relief as Jongin inhales.

Then the other man turns around, rams a gun right against Bumhyeon’s visor, and fires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> normal person: this isn't a prayrilla fic, it's just a bunch of tv tropes sloppily thrown together with character names replaced here and there  
> me, laughing with lightning in the bg: THAT'S THE IDEA
> 
> anyway yeah this happened!! \o/ comments will be loved and hugged yay thank you friends


	3. 003.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorRY this took forever for dumb reasons OTL it goes right into the fic so it might be advisable to reread the first two chapters so things don't seem too abrupt T_T thank thank friends

Khan’s flight pattern wavers.

“Hirai hyung,” he ventures cautiously, after a second of radio silence. “Did something happen to Pray? His audio just cut out on my end.”

“Eyes on the road,” is all Hirai says.

Khan scans the darkened streets below him, searching for the van they’d gotten the license plate number of from the security cameras. Even past midnight, there are still vehicles everywhere, and his eyes are beginning to prick from exhaustion – he’d been on full day shift right before this.

“I can’t access his comms or location,” Khan tries again. “I think his helmet is compromised. He might be in trouble.”

“Not as much trouble as everyone else is going to be in if those Enhancements fall into the wrong hands,” Hirai says in a clipped tone. “Get that van. I’ll try to contact him again.”

*

Spiderweb cracks explode across Bumhyeon’s visor, red lights flashing from the smart tech inbuilt into his helmet to tell him the integrity of his armour has been compromised. He stumbles backwards, feeling a fist connect with the side of his helmet, knocking him to the ground.

“ _Jongin!_ ”

Pain is sparking through his head from the impact as he tries to scramble away. Their helmets had been designed to withstand bullets, but one point-blank to the face was more than enough to scratch the surface. The bullet was probably embedded in the reinforced alloy, leaving him with nothing more than a splitting headache.

“Inactivate helmet depressurisation, channel power to self-repair,” the warning sounds and red lights turn off, but his visor is still cracked to the point he can barely see. “Activate infra-red.”

The world switches to a blur of red and gray, just in time for him to see the fuzzy silhouette of Jongin, fist raised, right about to smash straight through the cracked visor.

Bumhyeon rolls away, before kicking off into the air. This isn’t much of an improvement. He’s one of the few who actually understand that the further you are from Jongin, the more of a threat he becomes.

Sure enough, there’s a definitive _click_ as Jongin takes aim again, and Bumhyeon’s just barely able to get up a shield before he fires, this second bullet stopping in its tracks once it hits the forcefield, circles rippling out from the impact.

“Jongin!” He’s shouting, desperation tearing away all semblance of pretence. “No one’s here, you’re safe now!”

The sounds of bullets hitting the forcefield stop. Bumhyeon’s breath catches in his chest – did it work?

Then the red silhouette shifts, and three gunshots _crack_ in the open air, before pain bursts into Bumhyeon’s right shoulder, making him cry out. Jongin’s _ricocheting the bullets_ to get around the shield.

He falls heavily to the ground, stumbling, as Jongin advances on him, his figure still fractured in Bumhyeon’s visor.

_“Kill the Defender.”_

The words out of his mouth stun Bumhyeon more than the pain as he backs away, shield still up, knowing he has to think fast. _Enhanced hostiles_. As of what he knew about Enhancements now, there was only one possibility. The Charm – Bumhyeon knew about them, but he’d never seen one in use like this, to turn someone against other peoples. Someone else was _controlling_ him.

_Kill the Defender._

Bumhyeon can hear the soft, patient _click_ of Jongin reloading his gun. He’s waiting for the shield to time out, Bumhyeon realises. _He probably has my cooldowns memorised too_. _When did he do that? He hates my job, he hates everything about it._

Then something occurs to him: _how much does he have memorised?_

 _Kill the Defender._ But what if he…

...wasn’t?

“Hyung?” he finds himself calling out despite knowing that one word, one action out of place could ruin his secret identity, could ruin Jongin and Boseong forever. The other man’s movements halt for a split second, then resume.

Bumhyeon takes a deep breath. He’s got five seconds left on this shield. He could run back down those stairs, but that would leave the next person to find him the choice of killing Jongin or being killed.

It’s a risk he’s not going to run. Very slowly, Pray places both hands on either side of his ruined helmet.

Holding his breath, he lifts it off.

A second later, the shield disappears.

Now that he can actually see, Bumhyeon’s heart wrenches at the sight of Jongin standing just a few feet away, gun raised and pointed straight at him. He doesn’t fire, though.

“Hyung?” Bumhyeon ventures, barely daring to breathe. Slowly, he drops the helmet. “Hyung, it’s me. It’s not,” his voice trembles. “It’s not Pray anymore. Remember?”

Jongin’s eyes are unseeing, expression unchanging. But he’s not pulling the trigger.

Bumhyeon takes one step forward. Instinctively, the other man takes one back, raising the gun slightly, as though threatening him to stay still.

Slowly, Bumhyeon takes the gloves off, letting them fall limply to either side, taking another cautious step forward. “The one in the mask isn’t me. And that’s the way it has to be, to protect you. You get it, right hyung?”

Jongin’s still backing away, with every step Bumhyeon takes forward. The barrel of the gun is trembling.

“It wasn’t ever supposed to be this way,” Bumhyeon’s voice wavers. “And every day I think about what could’ve been if I’d said no, if I’d just been a little more selfish and turned them down, but this is something I _have to do_.”

Bumhyeon tweaks at a safety lock on his uniform, before tugging a strap. Immediately, the uniform retracts back into the knapsack on his back, which he takes off, dropping at one side, leaving him in just a pair of dark jeans and a shirt.

“Pray is part of who I am,” Bumhyeon’s whispering, now, close enough that the barrel of Jongin’s gun would press into his forehead if he took another step forward. He reaches up, unflinching even as the cold metal of the gun presses limply against his cheek, hand coming to rest against the side of Jongin’s face. “But he’s not _everything_ I am.”

Without taking his eyes off Jongin, he plucks the revolver from the other man’s unprotesting hand.

Then the door to the labs behind them shifts.

It’s the moment Bumhyeon was waiting for. With a swift flick of his wrist, he sends a force field burst straight at the source of the sound.

He hears Jongin fall to the floor behind him as he rolls forward towards the lab door, reaching over to pin the – the _boy_ to the ground, face down.

“I was _waiting_ for you. You think I don’t know you need to be in range for a Charm to work?” Bumhyeon snarls, forcing the boy’s face down – _no eye contact means less chance of it working_. “How did you get hold of the Charm? Who are you working for and what are you going to do with those Enhancements?”

Something moves, just out of his line of sight, and he automatically lifts a hand, about to put up a shield.

Then he freezes.

“ _Seohaeng?_ ”

The metal butt of the rifle smashes into his temple, making fireworks explode in his head, as he crumples sideways, head in his hands.

He’s forced face down onto the ground, arms pinned behind him, one strong hand pressed against his windpipe. Faraway, he can hear someone laughing.

Seohaeng, Jongin, just _how many_ people did this kid have Charmed?

“You know,” the boy comes into focus, rubbing at his arms. “It’s funny, what you learn from a person who’s willing to tell you everything. He said it himself, you know, how the Defenders _took his husband away from him,_ how they _ruined his family_.”

“That’s a lie,” Bumhyeon chokes, and a fist slams into the side of his head again, making him see stars.

“I didn’t change _anything_ about him,” he continues with a cruel sort of smirk. “I just gave him perspective, and he took care of the rest.”

Two more seconds till his forcefields come off cooldown. Bumhyeon chokes as Seohaeng drags him up, slamming him against the wall.

“Do we kill him, Jaeha?”

“Ah, that would be a pretty shitty career choice, Seohaeng-ah.”

 _No_ , Bumhyeon wants to scream if he had the breath to do so. Jongin’s standing, posture steady but hands trembling slightly, rifle pointed straight at Seohaeng.

“Go,” Bumhyeon manages to choke out. “ _Hyung_ , get out of here.”

“ _Drop. Him_ ,” the rifle clicks threateningly. Bumhyeon’s eyes flick over wildly to Jaeha, who’s just watching the exchange, at this point, clearly amused. He could send out another force field burst, but there’s no guarantee that Jaeha won’t be able to dodge it in time and just use the Charm on them again. He needs a _plan_ , but the pounding in his head is making even coherent thought difficult now.

Seohaeng tilts his head slightly, then. “Make me.”

Jongin doesn’t react, and for a moment, Bumhyeon’s terrified that Jaeha might have regained control. But then he shrugs. “Okay.”

Then he shifts the sights to aim at Jaeha. And fires.

*

Bumhyeon drops roughly to the ground, gasping for breath, struggling to get up without his head pounding too hard.

Immediately, he feels someone push up against his side, throwing his arm over their shoulder, breathing rushed and tense. “Baby? Can you stand?”

“Go, we need to go,” Bumhyeon forces himself to stand, crumpling against Jongin’s side a little. It’s then he sees Seohaeng stumbling, the hypodermic dart protruding from his neck, Jaeha safe behind him and momentarily stunned. The man lifts a gun to fire blindly in their direction, and immediately Bumhyeon brings up a shield, before sending a force field to knock them both back into the wall. That’ll buy them a bit more time before Jaeha can call either of them back.

“Was that _Seohaeng_? Damn, he lost some weight-…”

“ _Not now_ , Jongin,” Bumhyeon grits his teeth. If only his healing abilities could be used on _himself_ – again, he wonders who the hell was in charge of designing this Enhancement. “Who are they? Is that _kid_ the one running the show? How’d he get his hands on a _Charm_ , those are supposed to be on lockdown in Seoul!”

“What happened to the trip to Seoul? Where’s your _uniform?_ ”

“I sent a virtual projection of me back here to save you,” Bumhyeon says snappishly. “Of course I’d come back for you, hyung, Boseong is _not_ graduating kindergarten with only one parent under my watch. The uniform’s a long story, I’ll explain it if we live.”

Jongin’s half dragging, half carrying him towards the corridor, now – Bumhyeon crouches to grab his knapsack off the floor, white spots appearing in his vision when he straightens up.

“Better one parent than none, if you ask me - here’s a shortcut. It’s amazing, by the way, _you_ , breaking protocol for little old _me_ ,” Jongin pushes into a room, closing the door behind them. “It’s almost like you love me again.”

“I _always_ love you, hyung,” Bumhyeon mumbles. Just to be sure, he brings up a shield, blocking off the way they’d come by. That should hold them off for a while more, if they were following.

“We should start getting into life-threatening situations more, does wonders for married life,” Jongin uses his free hand to hastily key a number code into the pad by the other door in the room, before it opens into the corridor, the fire exit just a few steps away, now.

Bumhyeon wraps his arms around Jongin’s shoulders then, hugging him tight, burying his face in the older man’s shoulder and staining it with blood. “I’m sorry this happened, hyung. I’m sorry for everything.”

Jongin is surprised – Bumhyeon can tell by the way he stiffens. “Baby- it’s not…not your fault?”

 _Right_ , with the Charm, he wouldn’t remember what’d happened just now – all he’d remember was getting knocked out by them. And honestly, it’s probably better that way.

“Let’s go,” Bumhyeon says, shaking the emotions from his head. “This way down?”

“The fire exit leads straight down, you should get assistance as a civilian, special forces will be coming up to smoke this place out soon,” Jongin says, still looking worriedly at Bumhyeon, before glancing back down the corridor once as they limp towards the fire exit door. “The other Defender, is he on the way-…”

Then the door flies open, and someone shoots right through.

Maybe it’s the blunt force trauma, or the shock from everything he’s discovered tonight, or the exhaustion finally catching up to him, but Bumhyeon raises a hand to bring up the shield.

He forgets. He forgets the two seconds left before his cooldown ends.

Jongin doesn’t.

Bumhyeon’s shoved roughly to the wall, just in time to see two glowing blades of energy pierce straight into Jongin’s chest, driving straight through to the other side.

Everything cuts to white.

The noise around them dies to a low, background whine. Bumhyeon ignores the pain in his right side, ignores the splitting ache in his head and the blood trickling into his eyes as he reaches over and drags Jongin’s limp body close, head pounding, a scream rising and dying in his throat.

_Vital organs compromised, including heart and parietal pleural membranes._

A voice rattles out from a talkie: “…took fucking long enough, Spirit – what happened to our shipment?”

A pair of legs steps over Jongin nonchalantly, walking down the corridor, and the blades disappear – blood is flowing freely out, now. _They don’t even care._

_Both lungs intrapleural pressure compromised – pressure in intrapleural space level with atmospheric._

“…lost it. The other Busan Defender got them, they had to abandon it or risk getting caught. Dandy’s heading with Imp to the rendezvous.”

_Lung collapse imminent. Unknown duration before permanent hypoxic damage._

“ _Fuck_ ,” the sharpness of Jaeha’s frustration, even through the talkie, cuts straight through the haze of panic. “Get over here and bring Seohaeng to the getaway vehicle. Khan’s probably on his way here right now. Come back to get me once I’m done memory wiping those two.”

Bumhyeon squeezes tears out of his eyes, hands pressed to Jongin’s bare skin, blood spilling out over his shaking fingers. _Fix him. You have to fix him_.

Then footsteps echo down the corridor, getting closer, brisk and confident, and the panic rises at the back of Bumhyeon’s head.

“ _You_ ,” Jaeha calls, his voice echoing down the corridor.

“No,” Bumhyeon ignores the pull of the voice, wrapping his arms across Jongin, then, voice breaking. Tears are streaming down his face, now. “Just let me heal him first. Please, _please_ , he’s going to die.”

_Pulse weakening and arrhythmic. Significant damage to right coronary artery detected._

He can hear the boy getting closer. In the midst of the storm around them, Bumhyeon feels Jongin’s hand wrap faintly around his wrist, warm with blood and grip fluttering.

“I’d say you have bigger things to worry about, no?” Jaeha says, barely a few feet away now.

_Lungs currently stable. Artery still ruptured, shock due to blood loss possible._

Bumhyeon doesn’t reply. He does, he knows that. He knows they’re getting away. He’d calculated the odds of him being able to stop them, and the odds of him being able to save Jongin.

“ _Really_?” Jaeha sounds faraway. “You’d choose _him_?”

There was never really any question about it, Bumhyeon thinks, as he presses his hands to Jongin’s chest and closes his eyes.

*

The ceiling is a familiar cream colour when Bumhyeon wakes up.

He’s been in this place many times. He knows what every beep and every whir means. He could do rounds around this place blindfolded if he had to. He’s just never been the one on the bed before.

There’s an ache at the back of his head as he tries to remember what’d happened. Something about their train to Seoul, the base getting attacked-…

_Jongin._

He tries to sit up, registering the bandages around his head and the IV, looking around wildly – what’d happened? Why can’t he remember anything?

Then the lump leaning over the foot of his bed dislodges, shaking blankets off himself. “Hyung?”

“Dongha?” Internally, Bumhyeon relaxes a little, wincing as his head hurts. “What’s going on, what happened with the-…?”

“You just woke up,” Dongha interrupts loudly, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “From your accident. You were working night shift at the base when you got caught in crossfire as some thugs broke in. Remember?”

Slowly, Bumhyeon turns around, noting that this is not, in fact, the secure medical bay used by the Defenders, and just a regular (albeit very classy) hospital ward. A nurse, on her way out with a trolley of equipment, sideeyes Dongha as she wheels over.

“Good to have you back with the living,” she says kindly. “We’ll just do a routine checkup, and I’ll get the doctor over to take a look at you.”

Bumhyeon nods, head still tingling with pain at that action, and lies back down obligingly as she checks each (very expensive) piece of machinery around him. It feels like _ages_ before she finally leaves, promising she’d be back soon with the doctor, and he hastily tells her not to hurry.

“The paramedics got to you before I could. You weren’t in uniform so I couldn’t take you from them,” Dongha whispers, now that they’re alone in the ward. “I managed to clear out your gear before they could find it,” he drags over a chair, looking at him worriedly. “What happened? Your helmet was all smashed up, we have no recordings-…”

“I don’t remember anything,” Bumhyeon says, pressing a knuckle to his head as he tries to remember. At least healing from Rejuvenation is working, he thinks. “The base was under attack – Enhanced individuals. Did you catch them?”

“No,” Dongha slumps a little. “We at least managed to stop them getting away with the Enhancements, but we couldn’t catch them. These aren’t just regular Enhanced thugs, they’ve got hold of some seriously _heavy duty_ Enhancements. I _swear_ at least two of them could fly, and there was one with some sort of spinning blade thingy-…”

“Dongha, my-…the uh,” Bumhyeon winces as he interjects. “The security personnel on that level, who got attacked by them too, is he okay?”

“Oh, you mean Jongin-hyung?” Dongha says, looking confused. “Yeah! He was passed out but I’m pretty sure he’s fine now, just some superficial injuries. There was blood _everywhere_ , though, I saw you lying in a pool of it and I freaked,” he looks ashamed of himself. “I guess it was my fault they got away, I thought you were seriously injured and I stopped to make sure the paramedics took care of you rather than going after them.”

“It’s fine,” Bumhyeon says, surprising himself. On any other day, he would’ve berated Dongha for not prioritising correctly. “It’s…it’s just good we’re all safe.”

Dongha blinks. “You sure you’re okay, hyung?”

The older man sighs, glancing around the ward. Somehow, he feels _different,_ like he’d just realised something important but just couldn’t remember what it was. “Wait, more importantly. The Seoul trip?”

“Hirai explained the situation to Kkoma. I’m going on the train tonight,” Dongha pouts. “Hyung, you won’t be able to go with me? I can’t hold my own in a meeting with all the preppy Seoul Defenders,” he deflates a little. “I’ll just embarrass us.”

“Sorry, I-…” Bumhyeon bites his lip. “I think I need to stay here for a while, with my family. Don’t say that about yourself Dongha. You’ve worked hard every time we went together, I trust you to handle well when you’re there – and you’ll be the one teaching when Rascal comes in next quarter. I’ll be available on call if you need help.”

To his surprise, Dongha pounces on him with a hug. “Take care, hyung. And you should really introduce me to your family someday! Tell me if you need anything for the rest of this afternoon,” he stands, grabbing his bag. “I’ll be back before I leave, I just need to settle some stuff at HQ. I’ll probably pop by Jongin hyung’s ward to see if he’s been discharged,” he misinterprets the look on Bumhyeon’s face. “I’ll be _discreet_ , I promise, he won’t even know I’m there to see him! You really should be nicer to him, hyung, he’s almost like our family.”

“Yeah,” Bumhyeon says uneasily, with a weak laugh.

“See you then!” Dongha waves, starting to leave.

 _I should probably get around to telling him_ someday, Bumhyeon thinks, it’d _make things safer for Jongin and Boseong too, having someone they can call if anything happens to me._

Then the door opens, and Bumhyeon freezes.

He has to hand it to Dongha, then, for handling it the way he does, despite how much Bumhyeon nags at him for not keeping his identity secret enough. Immediately, all traces of recognition are wiped from his face, replaced by polite confusion.

“Hi, sir, can I help you?” He asks, as Jongin walks into the room, a bandage over his head, one over his wrist.

“Oh, no,” Jongin says with a polite chuckle, completely missing the panicked look on Bumhyeon’s face. “I’m just here to see my husband.”

Dongha’s jaw drops.

“Dongha-…” Bumhyeon starts weakly, trying to salvage the situation.

“ _He?”_ Dongha almost yells, pointing at Jongin, who literally jumps a bit. “You’re married to _Jongin hyung_? And you _never told me about this?_ ”

*

Bumhyeon’s discharged a day later, after a puzzled inspection by a doctor surprised to see such a fast recovery.

It’s strange, just being able to spend time at home, no patrol duty hanging over his head, nowhere to rush to at night or in the morning, just checking in Dongha’s progress every now and then. The younger Defender had still been rather upset about the reveal (“I thought you _hated_ him!” “Well, you’re not wrong _” “Hyung”),_ but had left on schedule with Hirai, occasionally just texting him angry stickers on kakaotalk. It’s _nice_ to be at home.

The one who enjoys it the most is Boseong.

Bumhyeon watches fondly as the boy scampers back into the bedroom, bearing a bottle of barley water. He’s been running to and fro all day, once Jongin told him that Papa was hurt and needed Boseong to _be a big boy and take care of him well, okay?_

“Daddy’s home!” He informs, setting the barley water on the bedside table, before clambering onto the bed – when’d he get so _tall,_ honestly?

As if on cue, then, Jongin walks in, hanging his bag on the peg behind the door, grinning as he sweeps Boseong up off the bed. “ _Good_ job, Boseongie, taking care of Papa. You feeling okay?”

“Better,” Bumhyeon says with a smile, wriggling his toes. “Bored. I could get used to this lifestyle.”

Boseong screeches when Jongin kisses his cheek, wiping it with his sleeve and giggling when Jongin sets him down. “Go play in your room while Daddy and Papa talk for a while, okay?”

The little boy looks at Bumhyeon then, uncertainly. Then he runs out, grabbing his train track box and dragging it over to park himself right outside the room, as if afraid Bumhyeon would disappear if he looked away for too long.

Jongin sinks into the bed, pulling Bumhyeon into his arms. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” the younger man sighs. “How was work this morning? Everything settled?”

“They’re doing fine, I just wanted to drive by and check if everything was back to normal,” Jongin murmurs. “So, about that night…” he trails off. “You _really_ don’t remember anything?”

“I tried,” Bumhyeon sighs. “ _Nothing_. It was probably some new tech, or some Enhancements they’ve got. Nothing on your end too?”

“Nope,” Jongin mumbles. “The last thing I remember is checking in with the rest of my team. But I found something last night,” he glances around, checking that Boseong’s still busy playing, before unbuttoning the top of his shirt and pulling the collar aside. “I _never_ had this before, I would’ve remembered.”

Bumhyeon stares, blankly, at the messy, straight scar, warm and red against his skin.

“There are two of them, on my chest,” Jongin continues, as Bumhyeon pulls the shirt further down, checking his back.

“There are scars on your _back_ too,” the younger man’s voice shakes slightly. “Something - _things_ went right _through_ you, how did you even _survive_ -…?”

“It’s obvious, right?” Jongin pulls the shirt back up, looking at him meaningfully. “You healed me.”

Bumhyeon presses a hand to Jongin’s neck, and sure enough, he can _feel_ the wounds, freshly healed, right through his ribcage and lungs and heart.

“You could’ve _died_ ,” he whispers, shaking.

“But I didn’t,” the older man says, watching him tenderly. “Because of you.”

“ _Why_ , why’d they let me?” Bumhyeon’s trying to piece everything together. “My helmet was off, my uniform too, what if they _know who we are_ , what if they erased our memory so-…”

“Hey, hey,” Jongin says, gently. “I thought about it too. Don’t worry too much. At the most, we’ll just take Boseong out of kindergarten for a little while, and you and I will be safe at work. Besides, if they did know, if they wanted to do anything,” he looks carefully at Bumhyeon. “Don’t you think they would’ve done it already? While you were in the hospital?”

“Yeah,” the younger man sighs. “Maybe, I don’t know.”

The storm of thoughts in his head dies down, eventually, as Jongin wraps an arm around him, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Come on, we’re a team. We can get through this together.”

“Sorry,” Bumhyeon says, gesturing weakly. “About all this. Sorry I can’t be around. I just,” he sighs. “I just don’t want _this_ , everything that happens to me, to happen to you and Boseong too.”

“Works both ways,” the older man murmurs. “It’s called being a family.”

Boseong runs in, then, having decided that he’s been excluded from this conversation for long enough, clambering onto the bed to burrow messily between his parents, a train in one hand.

“You know what?” Jongin laughs, lifting the little boy onto his lap as he reclines on the bed. “Now that we’re all here, we should do something totally insane. Like have lunch together, or watch a movie.”

“Sounds crazy,” Bumhyeon sighs, resigning himself to this with more ease than he typically would, as Boseong starts using his arm as a train track. “How does fried chicken delivery sound?”

Jongin raises a brow, as Boseong cheers. “You _sure_ you’re feeling okay?”

The younger man smiles, half to himself, relaxing back on the pillows, wincing when he accidentally lies down on a half-finished Lego truck. “Yeah. Never better, actually.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes that's the end yayyy
> 
> i tried not to make the plot of this one rely too much on the main fic but some of it just happened OTL i hope everyone enjoyed~ comments and kudos will be much appreciated and loved! also pls lmk if there are other pairings you'd like to see! i'm working on developing some plot bunnies from the comments section of the first fic hehe so yep!!
> 
> big hearts <3


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